Rising from the Ashes
by JediMagnet09
Summary: Sam is a single step away from a precipice from which there may be no return.  When John goes too far, will Sam survive the fall? Can Dean save his little brother before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Hey all! So here's another story! I hope you all enjoy it. :)

I don't think there are any real warnings for this story. Violence in later chapters. Absolute misery in this chapter. John sucks in this story, completely and totally.

Sam is about 17 years old in this.

Please review! :)

* * *

><p>From a young age, Sam had never understood how you could feel alone in a room full of people.<p>

He was _never_ alone.

Dean was always by his side when he wasn't at school. When he was at school, there were _hundreds_ of people around him.

Sometimes his dad was there too.

Yet...there was more to loneliness than the physical aspect of being alone.

Sam might not know _physical_ loneliness, but emotionally? Mentally?

He had always been alone.

Something set him apart from others, always.

His "friends" (always temporary, always fake) at school would never understand why he was solemn, why he had such strict rules. They would never understand what he had _seen_. The _monsters_ he had faced. The true evil he had been forced to accept the existence of and battle. The agony he had felt.

They never _truly_ understood what it was like to keep a secret.

He didn't know what it was like not to live a lie.

His family would never understand him. He wanted normal. He wanted peace and safety. He was so exhausted. He was tired of being afraid. He was _tired_ of living this lie. They didn't understand that hunting was killing him. Some deep part of him would never be the same, _could_ never be the same.

Hunting would kill him someday, he knew, but what was worse? It could kill his dad. It could kill Dean. And then he'd be physically alone too.

They had never _truly_ understood what it was like to live with fear constantly, yet not _relish_ the hunt, not _relish_ the chance to reliquish that fear by proving your prowess, proving that you are stronger than the monster you face.

Sam didn't understand how to face that monster without eventually becoming one himself.

He just wanted his family.

Not a military unit, a family.

He wanted his dad to be a _father_ to them, not a commander. He wanted his brother to make his own choices, to be happy and safe.

He didn't want to have to be afraid of losing them.

He didn't want to lose himself to the hunt.

He didn't want to be alone.

He could only hope it wasn't all some crazy dream.

He wasn't sure what he would be _without_ that dream.

And of course, because fate apparently hated Sam Winchester, he also had to be afflicted with a taller, faster, stronger older brother who also happened to be his father's favorite and Mary Poppin perfect.

As if that wasn't enough, there was also bullies at school who tormented him daily for being clumsy (_injured, but they can't know that can they?)_, for being short, for being different, for being poor, for freaking _breathing_.

Sam was pretty sure he couldn't hate his life more.

Yet...

Sam was a natural optimist. Despite his loneliness, despite his fear, he still believed that things _had _to be okay. He had to believe that _something_ was looking out for them, that _some _higher power was guiding the Winchester family.

He had to believe that their was some way to escape this life without alienating his family.

He didn't want to choose between his own sanity, his own happiness, and his family.

He wasn't sure what he would choose if it came down to that.

He wasn't sure he could live this life much longer.

Yet...

He was a man of faith. He had been for years. There was a _reason _he had gotten along so well with Pastor Jim. There was a _reason_ he had enjoyed every moment spent in the pastor's company.

Pastor Jim offered something Sam needed.

Something to believe in.

Hope.

An explanation, something to put his faith in.

The opportunity to believe that he was never alone, because Pastor Jim taught that God was _always_ looking out for them.

And when his family wasn't around?

Pastor Jim told Sam that angels were looking out for him.

Sam had to believe that he wasn't alone.

If that was taken away from him?

There would be no turning back.

There would be no _Sam Winchester_ anymore.

Just an empty shell with a gun and a mission.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Here's the next chapter! I hope you enjoy and thanks to everyone who reviewed. :)

Um, more angst, more misery. No warnings otherwise. :)

* * *

><p>They were renting a place this month. It had enough rooms for all of them to have their own for once, a decent kitchen, and no infestions, which was probably a first for the youngest Winchester.<p>

He actually liked this place.

The argument had started over yet another move, yet another group of friends left behind, yet another school left uncompleted.

Sam hated the fighting. He was so tired of it, but if _he_ didn't fight for himself, who would?

"You don't care about us at ALL!" Sam found himself yelling, his feelings coming to light in a way he wished they wouldn't. "You just want soldiers in your stupid war, not sons. You really think mom would want this for us?"

John glared at his youngest, fury clear in his expression. "You _should_ want to fight in this _war_, Samuel, considering Mary died in _your_ nursery, saving _your_ life."

The accusation was all too clear and the Winchesters froze.

Pure hurt, agony, showed on Sam's face for a split second before a mask dropped over him. Without another word (_really, what could he say to that? You're lying? Sam knew he wasn't)_, he turned, hurrying up the stairs, then slamming the door shut behind him.

A collective sigh seemed to settle in the room as the tension dissipated a little in Sam's absence.

Dean sat at the kitchen table, staring at John with hard eyes.

"You went too far." His voice was quiet, but firm. He had given up interfering in their fights, but it didn't mean he didn't care when one of them hurt the other's feelings. And John had _definitely_ said too much, gone too far.

John sighed, his mask falling from his face to reveal irritation, weariness, frustration instead of fury. "I know."

"I'll talk to him after he cools down." Dean let out a sigh of his own.

He would later desperately wish he hadn't waited.

...

Sam sat on his bed, staring off into space, silent tears running down his face now that there was no one to be strong for.

_Dad blames me._

_Dean must blame me too. He didn't say anything. Just sat there. _

_He always just sits there._

_I don't understand how he can worship dad the way he does. _

_But maybe that's my problem. Maybe it's all in my head._

_I mean, Dean doesn't step into our fights anymore, he spends more time with girls and hunting with dad than he does with me. _

_Maybe..._

A silent sob ripped from Sam's chest.

Almost simultaneously, he made his decision.

_I can't stay where I'm not wanted._

Sam moved efficiently around the room, years of practice having his backpack packed in minutes.

This time, he left behind even more than he usually did: books, most of the very few personal things he had collected over the years, any school stuff.

He brought only snacks that he had been keeping for a late night, savings from a couple of jobs done over the last few summers, enough clothes for a few days, the knife Dean had given him for his birthday (_Dean said from both of them, but Sam knew better, his dad never remembered his birthday_), and his gun. The only personal thing he made room for was a book that Dean had given him once for Christmas with a picture of his mom, dad, and Dean tucked inside.

He took five minutes to write a quick note, then climbed out the window, and disappeared into the night.

...

Dean gave Sam two hours to calm down before he ventured up to his little brother's room.

He knocked on the closed door, sighing when he got no response.

"Come on, Sammy, it's me. Let me in."

No answer.

"Sam. Open the door."

Dean sighed again, then cautiously opened the door.

It took only a moment, frozen in the doorway, staring in horrified shock, taking note of the all too clear signs, for Dean to realize what had happened.

"SAM!"

He ran to the window, looking down, but it was no use and Dean knew it.

Judging by the temperature in the room, Sam had been gone for a while.

Probably most of the two hours Dean had given him to calm down.

"Dean, what's-" John appeared in the doorway, stopping when he caught sight of the open window, Dean's frantic expression.

Then Dean laid eyes on the note.

_Oh no._

Dean shakily reached out and grasped the note.

_Dear Dean and dad,_

_I'm sorry for causing you both such pain. If only I'd never been born, you both would have been happy, would have had mom. It really is my fault and I'm so sorry. If I could fix it, I would._

_Since I can't, I'm doing the only thing I can. I can't live where I'm not wanted, I can't live having to look at you both and know what you are thinking when you look at me. I can't_ (a tear stain here had Dean's already throbbing heart shooting into his throat) _I just can't. _

_I just want to be safe. I want us to be happy and safe. I can't do this. Hunting will kill us all someday and I can't watch you both die. I don't want to die, but you two are on a path to destruction and I can't seem to help you understand what it's doing to us. All of us._

_I'm tired of not being enough. Maybe someday I can prove myself to you and maybe that will be __enough to make us a family again._

_Don't worry about me. I'll be fine and it's not like it really matters anyway, right? _

_Don't come looking for me, either. You don't have to drag me back for some twisted sense of responsibility or need for control or whatever the heck has made you guys keep me around for so long._

_In case you don't know, I _(another tear stain and Dean's heart just _couldn't_ be torn any smaller) _I love you both. _

_Sam_

Dean collapsed hard on the bed, tear gathering in his eyes.

_What have we done?_

_Oh gosh. _

_What have we done?_

"Dean! Dean, come on! Maybe we can still catch up to him."

Dean stood, suddenly filled with determination that managed to drown out his grief and sorrow for the moment.

_I'll find you, Sam, and I'll fix this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry and I'm gonna make this better. _

_Whatever it takes._

_I'm sorry!_

_Just be okay._


	3. Chapter 3

Hey! I'm glad you all like this story so much!

Here's the next chapter!

Enjoy and please keep reviewing! It makes my day! :)

* * *

><p>Three months was a long time. It was strange for Sam to think of the passing time that way. In the past, three months had always been so short. Too short of a time in one place. Not long enough to properly master a weapon enough to use it. Too short of a recovery time when injured badly and totally exhausted.<p>

Now? Now, though, it felt like an eternity.

An eternity in hell.

_But this is better. Of course it is. It's better than being surrounded by people who hate me, living a life that I hate. _

Sam wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

He had changed in the three months he had spent on his own, out of necesity, to survive.

Fighting to live did that to anyone.

Shelter and food, safety and other necesities became distant wants that Sam's miserable life revolved around procuring.

He remembered the first time he had resorted to stealing. The fierce shame, the desperation that outweighed that shame, the guilt, the pride that he didn't think he'd ever unbury now...

...

_Sam hadn't eaten in three days. He was so hungry, __**so so **__hungry. _

_Hitchhiking did have one benefit that Sam hadn't thought of before. _

_When his ride stopped by a little fruit stand to grab some food, Sam got out too. _

_He took a leaf from Dean's book, looking as casual as he could manage, being sure to look confident and sure of his belonging there. _

_The owner never saw the apple slip into his pocket._

_Sam waited until he ditched his ride, then ate the apple._

_The phrase 'guilty pleasure' had such a different meaning to him now._

...

Shelter was something else he didn't come by easily.

He slept outside a lot, but occasionally he found a homeless shelter that had room for him.

...

_Sam couldn't sleep. For the first time in weeks, he had a bed, an actual bed, but he still couldn't sleep._

_It smelled awful._

_He couldn't place it, the mixture of smells, but it was nauseating._

_Urine, vomit, and worse._

_The bed was uncomfortable, springs digging into his back._

_The man in the bed next to his was snoring._

_Yet none of this was what kept him awake._

_He didn't like sleeping when he was so vulnerable. _

_There was no one there to watch his back, but he was surrounded by people who would gladly stab him in said back for a piece of bread or a couple of measly dollars._

_Desperation did that to people._

...

Of course, he tried to earn money.

But that wasn't easy.

He wasn't really in the position to get a steady job, and he had only one skill that could earn him any money, but that was hard to do at 17.

Not many people would play poker or pool with a small 17 year old boy for the kind of wagers he needed to make.

But occassionally he managed to sneak into bars and find men just drunk enough to accept.

Not that that ever went well either.

...

_Sam stuffed his earnings into his pocket, not much, never enough, but it would feed him for the next two days and that was more than Sam had had in what felt like forever. _

_The men he had hustled were glaring at him, angry and drunk, and Sam had watched his brother enough times to know that he was probably in trouble._

_Sore losers were among the hustlers worst nightmares._

_Minutes later as Sam felt blood cascade down the cut across his forehead, his back aching from where he had been slammed into the back outside wall of the bar, he knew he was in trouble._

_Ramming his knee into a rather sensitive area between his attacker's legs, he ducked away from the man as he groaned and grunted out death threats on the kid who had bested him. _

_Sam decided then and there that he would run from fights until he could be sure that he wouldn't lose._

_He ran._

...

And because the universe hated him, none of this was enough.

He had to get mugged too.

...

_When Sam woke, his first thought was that it was cold._

_His second was that he hurt._

_As his eyes fluttered open and he caught sight of the blue sky above him, marred by clothes lines hanging between the two buildings that formed the walls of the alley he was lying in, memory came flooding back._

_He glanced down at himself and groaned, trying to keep from sobbing as tears welled up in his eyes._

_This was almost too much._

_The man who had hit him, knocked him out, had stolen his clothes, his bag, everything. _

_His only comfort was found in the book the mugger had cast aside as worthless. _

_Sam gave into the sobs when he realized the picture of his family was still inside and unharmed. _

...

As horrible as that moment had been, it had also led him to stop running for a while.

He had managed to dig a few dollars out of his socks (which the mugger had left behind) and bought pants at the nearest, cheapest store he could find.

He dug up a shirt thanks to Salvation's Army.

The clerk there directed him to a place in town that would probably hire him.

The manager, a kindly older woman, took one look at him and declared he had a place at her store.

He spent the next six months unloading boxes from a truck at night.

A series of growth spurts hit him, he began to build muscle thanks to his job.

Somehow, things were looking up at least a little.

But too many things had gone wrong, Sam had suffered too much.

He was simply waiting.

Waiting for his luck to end.

Waiting for the next disaster.

And it didn't take long before the youngest Winchester was proven right.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey all! Here's the next chapter, thanks for the reviews! Enjoy! :)

Sorry about the long wait. I'm working a lot, college and all, so writing time has been cut back a lot. I'll catch up, though. I'm getting back into the groove of things. :)

* * *

><p>Sam was almost comfortable in his new life.<p>

His job was hard work, but worth it considering the muscle he built. His boss was a life saver, protective and kind.

The town wasn't half bad itself and Sam was _finally_ beginning to think he was home free.

He should have known better.

Sam spotted them on his way home from work. He passed a motel on the other side of the street, glancing towards it out of habit.

He froze when he saw the familiar black car.

_They're here. _

_Oh gosh._

_How did they find me?_

_What do I do?_

_They can't take me back._

_I can't go back._

_Dad'll kill me._

Sam ran.

...

He was out of town within the hour.

He left a message on his boss's answering machine, apologizing profusely and explaining that he had to go.

Packing what meager possessions he had, he used a little bit of the money he had saved to get a bus out of town.

While the loss wasn't nearly as great as leaving his family had been, Sam still wondered if he would ever recover. Despair and depression, his constant companions, would surely overwhelm him if he continued this route.

...

Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it together.

His baby brother had been gone for so long...

_...driven away by his __**family**__...the ones who were supposed to protect him._

Guilt consumed him, exhaustion plagued him.

A hard mask of fury had been his temporary defense but it was crumbling.

Behind it lay heartbreak, regret, fear, and anger.

_I miss him._

_I should have said something._

_Is he okay?_

_Dang it, dad. How could you have done this to him? To __me?_

More than anything, Dean wished he could just catch up to his baby brother. He and his dad had been attempting to follow Sam's trail, attempting to catch up, but so far they hadn't had any luck.

_Just be okay, Sammy. _

_Please hold on and we'll find you._

_I'll find you._

_Give me time, give me an opportunity, and I'll fix this!_

_I won't rest until I do._

...

Sam kept going for weeks, stopping as little as possible.

He hustled then left town immediately, barely getting enough to survive day to day.

The first time he stopped for over a day ended up changing everything. _Again_.

A habitual glimpse at the paper and the headline caught his eye.

_Girl's sudden disappearance from locked home still unsolved. Authorities stumped._

Sam hestitated, distantly aware that if he made this choice now, there was no going back.

Would he hunt?

_I can't ignore this._

_I can't hunt alone._

_I can't let people suffer. I've been trained for this._

_But I'm not good enough. Dad thinks so, Dean thinks so._

_They're wrong...they have to be..._

_They think mom's death was my fault._

_I have to do this. Make up for all I've done._

...

Sam was both disturbed and relieved to find out that everything still came naturally to him.

He researched, looking into the missing girl's life, the life of her family, the town.

He pinpointed a possible suspect: the girl's dead boyfriend.

It wasn't hard to find out where he was buried. Getting a shovel, lighter fluid, and a lighter had been a little harder, but manageable.

He had learned _something_ from these years of hunting after all.

Digging the grave was hard on his own. He'd never done it without Dean digging with him, but he threw himself into the shoveling with his considerable strength, sweat soon pouring down his face from the effort.

Keeping the ghost off his back was nearly impossible, making the grave digging go even slower, but he did it, keeping a canister of salt in arm's reach, some part of his mind always ready to grab it and fling it.

It was with relief that he climbed out of the grave.

Pouring the lighter fluid over the exposed bones, Sam had only a moment's warning, a cold shiver up his spine, before he was flying backwards, his shoulder and arm slamming into the corner of a short, sharp-edged tombstone.

Sam yelped, but forced himself to keep going, ignoring the warm blood soaking his shirt, flowing down his arm.

A quick fling of salt and the ghost disappeared with a scream of frustration and Sam quickly lit the bones.

Another screech echoed through the graveyard, then blessed silence.

He had done it.

A warm feeling of satisfaction, nearly unknown to the youngest Winchester, blossomed in his chest.

He had done it.

...

Sam pursued hunts as rapidly as he could get through them. He started with salt and burns first, doing his best to find "easier" things, hoping to ease himself into solo hunting.

Learning to stitch himself up had been horribly painful, something he had hoped to never have to do. He had a few nasty looking scars thanks to his initially shaky hand. He'd even passed out once while doing stitching himself up and _that_ had definitely not gone over well.

But as his father had often repeated and drilled into them, practice makes perfect, and Sam had _lots_ of practice.

When he wasn't on a hunt, he was researching hunts or traveling to them.

He was surprised by how naturally it came to him.

Perhaps not having the anxiety of living up to his dad's expectations brought up his skill level, success level.

If nothing else, Sam had finally learned a Winchester truth, no matter how self-destructive it truly was (_little knowing that Dean was finally learning the opposite lesson) _: hunting was the best method of distraction there was, because no dealing was the best type of dealing.

...

"You're _what?_"

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Dean, your brother doesn't _want_ to be found. I'm not going to waste my time looking for him, then."

Dean's fists clenched. "Sam is only still gone because he doesn't know that he's welcome back, that things are going to change. He thinks we _hate_ him. That's the only reason he's still gone. You can't give up _now_!"

John scowled, his anger evident. "Sam will come back when he realizes he can't live on his own. When he gets hungry enough, he'll come crawling back."

Dean exploded, his fist connecting with an unexpecting John's face. His chest was heaving, his eyes wide, face pale. "How dare you? Sam's your _son, _you should be _worried_ about him, not planning for him to _starve_ so he'll come back. We need to prove to him that we care and if this is how it has to happen, then fine. You don't care enough to look, then _fine_. Leave and don't come back. I, _we_, don't need you anyway."

John glared. "You'll come around, Dean. You'll see I was right."

Dean moved to punch his father again, and John backed up, wiping at the blood flowing from his nose.

"You have my number, Dean."

"I won't need it, _John._"

John left and Dean slumped onto the bed, hurt building beneath his rage.

_How could he give up?_

_How could he?_

Dean had forgiven his father for all his shortcomings throughout the years.

Birthdays forgotten, holidays ignored, nothing mattered to Dean as long as his family was together and safe and relatively happy.

This, though, this was something Dean could not forgive.

Giving up on family was a sin Dean couldn't overlook.

_I'm so sorry, Sammy. Should have known you were right about dad. He doesn't give a crap about __us. Just wants soldiers._

_I'm not going to give up, Sammy._

_Never. _

_I need you and I'm going to make you see that._

_I'm going to fix this._

Dean had to believe that.

He had to or he would have nothing, nothing to live for.

_I show you, dad. Sam will be okay. We both will and won't that just shock you._

_Hang on, Sammy. Hang on._


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! I hope you're enjoying the story so far, sorry for the wait! Thanks for all the reviews! Here's the next chapter! :)

* * *

><p><em>A whole year. I can't believe it's been a year. <em>

A lot had changed in the year that Sam had been apart from his family.

His height had finally caught up to his feet and now he towered over all around him. He had put on muscle thanks to the job he had taken for six months and to hunting. His voice had deepened, finally finished it's long, rather painful, change from child to adult.

His hair was longer than it had ever been before, he even had hair on his face. It wasn't his best or favorite look, but he found comfort in the fact that he hadn't hardened _that_ much: all of his money had gone to a young, single mother he had met on a hunt two weeks ago and he had only been able to hustle enough for gas (as he had finally gotten a cheap, but efficient car a few months previous) and food. Shelter and any other kind of care came second.

Sam swept the thoughts away, focusing in on the game of pool he was hustling. He was nearing the end and he could already tell that the three hillbillies he was hustling were getting angry and would probably be a problem.

Normally, Sam's size detered fighting, but in this case, somehow, they were all bigger than him.

He had begun to think that was impossible.

Sam lined up his final shot, then fought back a grin when he made it, perfectly.

Any inclination to grin at his success was driven away by the look on the faces of his three opponents. Reaching for the money, he had no desire to stick around any longer than he had to, he restrained a sigh when his wrist was grabbed by one of the large men.

"You _cheated_ us."

Sam faked an innocent look, shrugging helplessly. "It was just beginner's luck."

The man scowled, glancing at his two buddies. "Yeah. Right."

Sam forcefully pulled his arm out of his opponent's grip, taking a step back as they began to move towards him, pool cues in hand.

_Well, not the plan, but not the end of the world either. Not like I've never been in a fight over hustling before._

Sam shifted into a defensive stance, prepared to defend himself, hoping to have the opportunity to grab the money before he had to leave.

It would really suck to go yet _another_ day without food.

Suddenly, a pool cue was whistling towards his head, Sam easily ducking underneath the blow, jerking to the right to avoid a jab.

He swung his fists in a quick left-right jab, taking a painful hit across the face that bloodied his nose and cut open his cheek.

Still, he had expected more. This was it?

He couldn't help the smirk.

"That the best you guys can do?"

He had spoken too soon.

Strangely enough, he heard the crack before he felt it, a sudden blast of blinding pain in the back of his head, then blessed darkness.

...

His first thought upon waking was _ow._

His second was _holy crap, they hit me with a pool cue and my head's still attached. I think._

That was when he noticed that he couldn't move.

The brief blast of panic had his eyes flying open, almost frantically taking in his surroundings.

He was tied to a chair (_who the heck carries rope with them? Seriously! Why would you bring rope to a bar?). _The bar was deserted, the bar tender still standing behind the bar, not looking at him.

The three hillbillies Sam had beaten at pool were standing above him, smirks of their own twisting their faces.

_Well, crap._

"You messed with the wrong guys, man."

Sam said nothing, just raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to snort incredulously.

_Morons. Why is it always the morons? Cliche, idiotic hillbillies. Wonderful._

A pool cue was raised and Sam braced himself for a beating, when the doors swung open and everyone froze.

_Holy crap._

_No way._

It was Dean.

_Dean. _

His older brother had changed a lot in the last year. Sam didn't remember him being so slumped and tired.

_Must have been a hard hunt._

Glazed, bloodshot eyes, hunched shoulders, pale face. Overall, his brother looked like crap.

_Wonder where dad is. Guess Dean's hunting on his own._

Dean froze as he looked over the scene, and Sam had to wonder what his big brother was thinking, even while praying that his brother wouldn't recognize him beneath all the hair, blood, and dirt.

...

It was an undeniably odd sight.

The man tied to the chair, strangely familiar but Dean just attributed that to desperation and exhaustion, was huge, but the three rednecks standing around him were somehow bigger, all holding pool cues.

They were all bleeding.

_Wonder what he did to tick them off._

...

_Oh my gosh. _

_He doesn't recognize me. _

Sam hoped not to be there long enough to _be _recognized.

He couldn't believe his luck.

_How could Dean be __**here**__? Did he follow my trail?_

_How the heck could he find my trail?_

The impasse was finally broken when the leader of the three losers who had attacked him spoke.

"You have a problem with this?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Look, I just came here to get good and drunk. What did he do to you anyway?" he asked.

"Stole our money." the leader growled.

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes at the answer.

_We played pool and you lost, stupid._

He regretted it when his reponse got him smacked hard across the abdomen with the pool cue.

Sam cursed breathlessly, back arching against his bonds.

Dean winced, but just shook his head. "Let me get drunk and I'll pretend I'm deaf and blind."

Sam couldn't help but be surprised at Dean's harshness, at the utter hollowness in his brother's voice.

Another blow from the pool cue had him grunting in pain. It was quickly followed by another and another, finally drawing a cry from Sam.

He vaguely noticed Dean's back, which had been turned to them, stiffen.

A foul breath on the side of his face was his only warning.

"Like what you see, freak? Pretty thing like that-"

Sam's eyes narrowed as the hillbilly continued a soft taunt that had him nearly choking on rage, some deep part of him horrified at the perverted evil that had the man chuckling.

Finally, Sam lost it.

With a roar of anger, he arched back against his bonds, this time on purpose, and managed to break a rope binding one of his wrists.

He lunged, grabbing one of the pool cues from the shocked, unsuspecting men and whacked two of them across the face with all the force he could muster, his lips curling in a snarl as they dropped to the floor, strangled cries coming from their mangled faces.

Sam turned his attention to the third, but not fast enough.

The gun aimed between his eyes had him freezing in place.

The red haze cleared a little and Sam noticed Dean glance back at them, seeing the gun, then stiffening even further.

Sam pushed Dean to the back of his mind for a moment, glaring up at his attacker.

"Go on. Do it. Shoot. You think I care? I'll get out of this freaking life and you get prison for life if not death row. I win either way, dude. So do it." he snarled.

He was so tired. Emotionally and physically, he was just so _tired. _He missed his brother, his hurt would probably never fade, he hated what his life had become, he hated what his life had been. He felt trapped, doomed no matter what he did.

_Maybe this is my way out._

The hillbilly hesitated, but Sam could see that he was drunk enough, stupid enough, to shoot, finger tightening on the trigger.

Sam watched him calmly, unfazed.

_Bring it on._


	6. Chapter 6

Hey all! Thanks for being so patient! Life has been crazy recently with just one thing happening after another and I haven't been able to write for a while. My front door was kicked in and we spent over a thousand fixing it (freaking ridiculous), my Uncle got married (yeah!), my family had a big reunion (way fun!), and that's just the tip of the ice berg. So, yeah, thanks for being patient! :)

* * *

><p>Suddenly, Dean was standing there, his handgun pressed against the guy's temple.<p>

"It's really not worth it, pal. Just drop it."

His attacker did so, a quick glance from Dean towards the man's buddies sending him moving again. In seconds, they were out of the bar.

Dean sighed,then turned his attention wordlessly to Sam, undoing the rope on Sam's other wrist. He moved back as Sam stood.

Immediately moving to the pool table, Sam grabbed his hard-earned money, simply thinking about how in the world he was going to face Dean now, how he was going to keep this charade up.

Dean laughed humorlessly behind him. "The money worth that much to you, kid?"

Clearly, he still didn't know that underneath all that dirt, blood, and hair was his little brother.

Sam just shrugged, never more thankful for his voice change than he was now. "Food and motel money."

He turned to face Dean only to see his oblivious older brother studying him. "Why don't you sit and have a drink with me? You look and sound like you could use it."

Sam hesitated, brief flashes of everything that could go wrong crossing his mind, but finally his loneliness won out and he nodded.

"I'm Dean."

Sam shook the outstretched hand firmly, quickly deciding to keep things simple.

"Samuel."

Dean flinched almost imperceptibly. If it hadn't been for the years he had spent watching, idolizing, his older brother, Sam wouldn't have even noticed.

...

They got talking a little and Sam was surprised to discover that they actually got along quite well, though Dean was so much more somber than he had been before.

Finally, Sam couldn't resist anymore. "So what's bugging you?"

Dean looked at him, surprised, and Sam just shrugged. "I'm good at reading people."

Silence for a moment, then Dean sighed. "Over a year ago, my younger brother took off, after a stupid fight with my dad. The two of them. Geez, they were always fighting and...well, I've been looking for his scrawny butt for a year now."

Sam was instantly put on defense by the words, though he was careful not to show it.

_Dean sounds so angry, so frustrated. He's just like dad. Always angry. I'm just a burden to him, even when I'm not there._

"That _stupid kid_ should have known better than to run off. For all I know he could be hurt, he could be d-dead, and he wouldn't have any backup, because he's gotta run off, insist on not trusting anyone, not letting anyone know where he is. Dang, that kid ticks me off."

Dean finally stopped, turning back to the bar and taking a long drink of his beer.

...

_Geez. I must be really off if I'm venting to some stranger. Though there is something about this guy... _

Dean shrugged the feeling off.

_Three days with no sleep will do that to a person. Crap, I really need to get some sleep and lay off the alcohol. I'm never going to find Sammy this way. I'm not even being fair. I don't mean any of this crap. It's not his fault and I know it._

Dean restrained another sigh.

_I'm sorry, Sam._

...

Sam took a mouthful of his own drink, suddenly more grateful for his fake license than he had ever been before.

He was going to need the alcohol, he could tell.

_Stupid kid? I'm not stupid. I'm many things, but not stupid. _

Any nice feelings that may have been blossoming from seeing Dean again, from connecting to Dean in an unexpected way, from Dean saving his life _yet again_, were gone.

The slight urge to reveal himself quickly passed.

_Things haven't changed. I'm not going to stay where I'm not wanted._

The two drank in silence for a few minutes, Sam's dark thoughts swirling around in his head until he was sure he was going to be sick.

"Well, I have to take off." Sam stood, facing Dean as his older brother stood with him.

"Alright. Nice meeting you. Try not tick off any more hillbillies, okay?" Dean chuckled.

The two shook hands firmly.

"I'll keep an eye out for a 'scrawny little butt' that belongs to an older brother named Dean." Sam was surprised at himself for being able to keep a straight tone, none of his anger and hurt showing through.

Dean snorted, but if Sam had been looking more closely he would have looked at the flash of pain, of longing, in his older brother's eyes. "Thanks for that."

Sam started walking towards the door, glancing back just once, to see his brother back at the bar, drinking again.

...

Sam left town that night.

He resorted to something he hadn't really done for months: he ran.

He ran from Dean, he ran from the memories that were stirring up, the hurt and anger he couldn't get rid of.

He never stopped for more than a couple hours, hunted hard, hustled, drank, and fought and left a trail of both monster and human blood behind him.

Somewhere deep down, he just hoped that hunting would kill him, free him from the agony he seemed destined to live with, to drown in.

But he just wasn't that lucky.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for the delay guys. I'm working hard, so I don't have a lot of time. :)

Here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy and thanks for the reviews!

The boys will be reunited soon, I promise! :)

* * *

><p>Sam should have known that he would eventually get in over his head.<p>

The wound wouldn't stop bleeding.

He couldn't reach it to stitch it up, he couldn't go to a hospital considering he had kinda started the bar fight that had led to him being nearly decapitated.

Sam swore vehemently.

_What to do? What to do?_

That's when the name came to mind.

_Will he call dad and Dean though?_

Ultimately, Sam knew he didn't have a choice.

_He lives nearby and I need help._

...

"Hello?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Bobby?"

A pause. "Yeah, who is this?"

"It's Sam. Sam Winchester."

"SAM! What the heck, boy, your brother's been lookin' for you! They-"

"Don't really want me there. Look, Bobby, I need some help. I'm bleeding out in my motel room and I can't reach the wound. Think you can drop by?" Sam's voice was strained, his pain suddenly clear in his tone.

"Yeah, Sam, of course I can. Where are you? What about your brother, Sam?"

"Don't call him, Bobby. You can't tell him you've heard from me."

"Sam-"

"I know what they think of me, Bobby, and I won't be where I'm not wanted. Don't call them. If they show up here, I'll disappear and _no one_ will hear from me again. You know I can do it. Please, Bobby, I need help, don't make me go somewhere else."

There was a soft sigh over the phone. "Don't be an idjit. I'm on my way. Alone."

Sam quickly gave him the information then hung up.

_Thank you, Bobby. I really do need help. _

Sam glanced down at the blood soaked sheets, the towel he was trying to hold to the wound down his neck and back.

_I really, really need help. _

...

Sam relaxed as the painkillers Bobby had given him finally kicked in.

"Better?" Bobby's voice drifted over to him from the table.

Sam grunted. "Much. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Bobby sighed.

"Look, Sam, I'll only bring this up once, but I need to say my piece. Just listen this once, then I'll drop it, okay?"

Sam sighed, but nodded slightly.

"Your family has made some serious mistakes with you. You know it, I know it, and now _they_ know it. Your brother's lookin' for you, Sam, and he's falling apart. He needs you and his guilt is tearing him apart. He's worried about you. I know you're hurtin', but you really should call him. Give him a chance."

"Bobby, Dad made it clear that he blames me for mom's death and Dean didn't say anything. But that was just the final straw. For years now, Dean has been pulling away. The only reason he may feel guilty or be worried is because dad gave him an _order_ to watch over me and in his mind he failed dad. It has nothing to do with me. As for dad...dad has _never_ treated me like he treated Dean. I'm not his slave or his underling. I'm his son. I didn't sign up to be in his army. Dad can't work _with_ us, he has to work _over_ us. They are better off without me there and I think we _all_ know _that_."

Bobby looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if asking for patience, then nodded. "Alright, Sam. I don't agree with you, but just promise me you'll keep in mind what I said, okay? People say things they don't mean when they're mad and I don't think your brother's love for you is because of an order from your dad."

Sam was silent, looking down at the floor. He didn't know what to think.

Deciding it was time to change the subject, Bobby snorted in amusement.

"You've gotten huge, Sam. You know you've passed your daddy and your brother in size now? You've gotta be, what, 6'4?"

Sam grinned. "6'5." Flexing an arm, Sam's grin widened. "200 pounds of pure muscle, man."

Bobby rolled his eyes. _Kid is so much like Dean in so many ways. Not like I'd tell him that now. _

"Well for all your muscle, you still manage to collect scars just like every other hunter. Where's that one on your cheek from?"

Sam sighed. "Bar fight."

"Just how many bar fights you been gettin' in to, Sam?"

Sam's grin returned, though it was a little forced. "A lot. Guess people really don't like being hustled. Works for me though. Last couple of weeks I've managed to get enough money to start staying in motels more often. I get to shave now, cut my hair every so often. Buy some clothes that actually fit. I'm doing just fine on my own."

Bobby grunted noncommittedly. _Yeah, you're alive and clothed, idjit, but you're clearly miserable, lonely, even frightened. Stubborn kid. I can't read you like your brother once could, but I'm not stupid._

...

Sam had forgotten how nice it was to have a conversation with a friend. This had been his first in a while, since he wasn't counting that night several months ago with Dean. That hadn't exactly ended well.

As he watched Bobby drive off, Bobby's parting words bounced around in his head.

_"Keep in touch, kid." _

He had paused then, back turned to Sam.

_"It's nice to see you're alive, Sam. We were all worried. Your brother still is." _

A pointed look back at the youngest Winchester, then Bobby had climbed into his car.

Sam sighed and closed the motel room door.

_Could Bobby be right? _


	8. Chapter 8

Hey all! So here's the next chapter. I hope you like it and thanks for the reviews!

I made the town up, just in case anyone is curious. If there really is a town called Sonora Falls, then just picture it, I suppose. :)

Also, I know that technically Dean hadn't made the gun that would shoot salt shells yet, but for the sake of my story, he did before Sam left, okay? :)

* * *

><p>"Hey Bobby, what's up?"<p>

Sam was surprised that Bobby was calling him. It had been about a week since he had seen Bobby and they hadn't talked at all.

"Sam, your brother is in trouble."

Sam froze, his mind going blank for a split second before it erupted.

_Dean's in trouble, Dean's in trouble, I have to do something-_

_Dean hates me, dang it, why is he telling me this-_

_Is he hurt, was it a hunt, where is dad-_

_Crap._

"What happened?" Sam's voice was choked and strained, displaying a little of his turbulent thoughts.

"Dean has been searching for you since you disappeared, Sam. He stopped in Sonora Falls for a night, called me up an hour later and said there's an aggressive ghost in the area and he had to deal with it. I haven't heard from him in over a day and for Dean that worries me. He's been checking in at least once a day and asking if I've, uh, heard anything about you." Bobby paused, cleared his throat, then continued. "Keep in mind, Sam, your brother hasn't hunted since you left. He's spent every moment searching for you. He's a little rusty and you're the closest one. He could be in major trouble, Sam."

There was silence on the phone now, Sam trying to register all that was said (_He hasn't hunted since I left? Really?)_, Bobby trying to give Sam the chance to decide (_C'mon kiddo. Your brother __needs you and you need him. Don't be stubborn._).

Finally, Sam swallowed hard. "Sonora Falls, you said?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me everything."

...

Sam's thoughts were hectic as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

_Dean hasn't hunted since I left. He really spent this entire time searching for me. Then why...why didn't he say anything when dad and I fought? Why did he say what he did at the bar? _

Sam didn't know what to think.

_Bobby says that Dean is sick. Hasn't been taking care of himself, has pushed himself to exhaustion. _

As much as he wished he could say he didn't believe Bobby, Sam knew that Dean could and would let his own health go when he thought Sam was in trouble.

_Like that time when I got so sick even dad was gonna take me to the hospital. Dean spent every moment caring for me, then got sick just as I started to get better because he hadn't been eating, sleeping, drinking, caring for himself at all. Yeah, that's Dean. _

_I thought everything was all just because of dad's orders and Dean's obsessive desire to follow every single order even if it killed him. But...but maybe I was wrong. _

As much as Sam wasn't sure he could handle the knowledge, the truth, some small part of him begged desperately:

_Please. Please let me have been wrong._

...

It was with great relief that Sam pulled into the driveway of the house where the ghost was.

_"This man was kidnapped, attacked, and killed in the basement of the house." _

Sam remembered Bobby telling him.

_"Another thing, Sam, the man heard his brother come in the house to rescue him. He heard his __brother fight his attacker and he heard his brother die. You're probably going to be attacked. The ghost is reenacting his own circumstances before death over and over. Dean is probably in the basement. He wants him to listen to you die. Don't do that to Dean, you hear me? You be careful."_

Sam steeled himself, set his shoulders, then climbed out of his car. Quickly heading around to the trunk, Sam pulled out his gun and salt shells.

A few long strides had him standing at the door.

_This is it. No going back. You do this, you can't hide from Dean. You look more like yourself now than you did at the bar and he'll be able to tell, sick or not. _

Sam swallowed hard once more, then moved forward, kicking in the door with a grunt.

...

Dean groaned as he shifted, his sore shoulder immediately protesting the movement.

Being thrown down the stairs would do that to a man.

He fought to keep his eyes open, the exhaustion he had been battling for months lingering at the edge of his mind, just waiting for him to weaken enough to overtake him.

_If I go to sleep now, I might never wake up._

Dean started as a ghostly shriek sounded from the floor above.

_Crap! What if it's Bobby? The ghost goes after the rescuer. Shoot, shoot, shoot. I've gotta do something._

Dean tried to push himself up, but grunted in pain and fell back to the floor.

_Okay. That ain't happening. _

The fight above was clearly violent.

Crashes shook the floor above, the crunching sound of furniture, the blast of a gun going off, an occasional cry from the ghost or his unknown rescuer.

A scream had him stiffening up.

_That was definitely human._

A blast of a shotgun, then silence.

Suddenly, the door splintered open, a large boot visible for a second before the door was pushed aside.

Dean stared at the huge form that filled the doorway.

_Who in the world did Bobby send to get me? _

That's when the suspicion started to grow in his mind.

_Wait a second._

No matter how much had clearly changed, there was no way to mistake that floppy hair, the puppy dog eyes that were harder than he remembered.

_"Sammy?"_

Sam looked at him for a second, his expression unreadable.

"Can you stand? I need to keep the ghost occupied."

Dean didn't quite know what to make of the emotionless tone.

Instinct and memory told him that the lack of emotion was a mask, a mask covering a lot of emotion and thoughts.

Sam suddenly spun around, firing off a quick shot up the stairs.

Shaken from his thoughts, Dean forced himself to his knees, then to his feet.

His stand was shaky, but the sight of his little brother brought him strength.

_We have to get out of here. _

...

Sam couldn't handle it.

Seeing his brother, clearly injured, clearly sick, flushed with fever, frighteningly pale beneath that...it was too much.

Retreating behind the mask was easier until they were safe.

Dean seemed to be in shock, staring at him even as he stood up shakily.

_We have to get out of here. _

_Then we'll deal with everything. _


	9. Chapter 9

Hey all! Here's the next chapter! Thank you all so much for reviewing. You've been so kind and it really warms my heart (and totally makes me write faster) when I get such sweet reviews. You guys rock!

So here it is. (Part of) The Talk. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Also, I should probably put a small disclaimer: I have NO medical knowledge AT ALL. :)

* * *

><p>Sam took the steps quickly, standing at the top protectively as Dean made his slow and painful way up the stairs himself.<p>

Dean jumped as Sam fired again, glancing at him worriedly as he heard a grunt of pain at the movement.

That's when he saw it.

_Blood. Holy crap, there's so much blood._

Sam's entire right side was stained red from what looked like a stab wound in his shoulder. He was carrying the arm tenderly, though still using it when he needed to.

Before Dean could react though, Sam was pushing him toward the door with a sharp, "Go!"

Shots followed him periodically as Dean made his way towards the door, glancing back to make sure Sam was following every few steps.

It was with a big sigh of relief that they stepped outside the house.

Dean watched silently, still in shock at the sudden appearance of his long lost baby brother, as Sam moved over to what must have been _his_ car, opening the trunk and dropping the shotgun inside.

He slammed it shut, then turned his back to his older brother, taking a deep shaky breath, then flinching at the pain.

"Sam?"

...

Sam's panic, anxiety, got the better of him, and he found himself lashing out, his voice cold, distant, angry. "I'm not staying, Dean. My opinions haven't changed since I left. I'm not taking dad's crap anymore and I won't stay with people who hate me, who blame me for a death that_ couldn't_ be my fault considering I was only six months old at the time."

Sam fought a wince. That had sounded far too much like he was trying to convince himself for his tastes.

...

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I don't hate you, Sammy! I've been looking for you for well over a year! I've been trying to _find_ you! How could you think that _I_ hated you?"

Sam spun around, his face full of fury, his voice sharp and cutting, looming up to his full height in his rage. It was at that moment that Dean realized exactly how much bigger than him his little brother had gotten.

"You're _kidding_ right? You didn't say _anything_, Dean, when dad said...said _that_ to me. And then later, I believe your exact words were, 'i've been looking for his scrawny butt for a year now. That _stupid kid_ should have known better than to run off.' Yeah, I can feel the love and trust in that, Dean." Sam snarled.

Dean stared at him, brows furrowing, mouth slowly dropping open.

That's when it truly hit him and his already sick body just about revolted at the realization.

"Oh gosh. You...you were the one those stupid losers were...oh crap...Sammy...oh, Sammy...I hadn't slept in three days. I'd been looking for you for so long...I was venting, Sam. I was upset and worried." _Don't leave again. This is my chance to fix it. _Dean's own panic and fear started to get the better of him and he was rambling so fast he didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth. "It had nothing to do with a lack of love or trust, Sammy. I was just scared and...and lonely...and missing you like crazy. Please. Please, kiddo. Don't leave again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please."

...

Sam stared at his brother, surprised and worried. _Could he mean it? Really? _But the hope his brother's words had sparked in his chest was pushed to the side as he started to look more closely at his sibling.

Dean sounded horrible. His whole form was shaking, swaying. He looked like he was going to collapse where he stood.

Sam took a step forward as his brother's eyes filled with tears.

_Just how sick is he?_

Dean let out one last _please_ before he suddenly crumpled.

Sam lunged forward, catching him with a sharp groan of pain, then shaking him a little. "Dean?"

He manuevered around so he had a free hand, pressing the back of his hand to Dean's forehead, then immediately jerking it away.

His older brother was running a temperature and was definitely unconscious.

Worried, Sam ignored the pain in his shoulder and, with a quick intake of breath, picking his older brother up in his arms. His vision went white for a moment as his shoulder exploded with pain, but the hunter just waited it out, breathing hard.

The second he could see again, he manuevered the Impala's keys from his brother's pocket, gently depositing Dean into the backseat of the car.

Checking around the car, Sam found the motel key for Dean's room sitting on the seat. Having passed the motel on the way in, Sam was grateful that he already knew where it was and didn't have to delay by trying to find it.

...

It was a quick drive to the motel, but took a little longer to get up the courage to try to lift Dean up again and carry him into the room.

Sam did his best to put Dean on the bed gently as his shoulder screamed from the abuse he was putting it through.

Sam sighed heavily, staring down at his big brother.

"Hang on, Dean. I'm gonna take care of you. Then...then I think we need to talk."


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. I really appreciate the wonderful reviews and I hope you enjoy this next chapter! We're nearing the end here, next chapter will be the last I think. Thanks for reading! If you have anything you'd like to see next, tell me in a message/review! :)

So, again, I have no medical knowledge. :)

* * *

><p>It was slightly depressing to Sam that he knew exactly what quick motel-remedy for sickness Dean needed.<p>

_Our life is so freaking messed up._

Sam shoved the thoughts away, gently pressing the cold cloth to Dean's forehead once more. Dean made a small sound of discomfort, tried to shift away, but Sam easily kept him in place with a gentle hand to his chest.

"It's okay, Dean. I got you, okay? This will make you feel better."

Sam had been consistently giving Dean water over the last day that he had spent caring for his big brother. He had managed to get the fever lowered a little. Now it was just a matter of getting him to the healthy place he _needed_ to be at.

His shoulder had been forgotten in the hectic race to help his brother, though he had checked to be sure the bleeding had stopped.

...

Sam had had a lot of time to think over the last day and a half. As he sat at the table, staring down at the rough gouges in it blankly, everything he knew flitted through his mind.

He had pulled Dean's wallet out of his pocket, thinking it would be uncomfortable to sleep on, and been surprised at it's thickness. Curious, he had opened it, then froze.

His note. The note he had left the night he ran away. Sam had assumed it would be thrown away, or burned knowing his father, but here it was over a year later: in his big brother's wallet. That was a classic Dean sign of guilt and worry.

On top of that, his brother had made himself sick over the loss of his younger brother. You didn't push yourself that hard for someone you didn't care about. _Even with as obsessed as Dean gets about dad's orders, he wouldn't have pushed himself this far for this long without so sort of personal cause. _

And of course there was what Dean had said to him before he collapsed. _ "I hadn't slept in three days. I'd been looking for you for so long...I was venting, Sam. I was upset and worried. It had nothing to do with a lack of love or trust, Sammy. I was just scared and...and lonely...and missing you like crazy. Please. Please, kiddo. Don't leave again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." _

Sam felt so confused. Thoughts and emotions were flitting around in his mind and he knew there was only one person who could truly straighten them out once and for all.

If only he would wake up.

Sam sighed, his own exhaustion beginning to catch up with him, and before he really knew what he was doing, he lowered his head down onto his good arm on the table and closed his eyes.

...

Dean shifted a little and groaned, then froze.

_Wait a second. Where the heck am I? _

Dean's eyes flew open as he took in his surroundings a little.

_Motel room? Last I remember I was with-_

_SAMMY?_

Dean forced himself to sit up, looking around frantically.

He relaxed when he caught sight of his younger brother, sitting at the table, head resting on one of his arms, asleep.

_What time is it? _

Dean frowned as he looked at the clock. _What __**day **__is it?_

As he stood and stretched, Dean took a better look around the room. Signs of occupation were everywhere: take out was sitting at one end of the table not looking like it had been touched much, a cloth was sitting on the side table with three bottles of water and a basin of water and tylenol.

_I got sick. _

However, the important thing that Dean got from his observations was this:

_Sam stayed. Sam stayed and took care of me. _

Dean gazed at his little brother a second, then moved over to his side.

_If he's up to it, we need to talk. _

Dean laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. Sam started awake, whimpering in pain at the sudden movement.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

Sam slowly sat up, gritting his teeth, and that's when Dean saw it.

_Sam never treated his wound. _

"Sam, why did you leave your wound untreated?"

Sam gazed at Dean a second, raising an eyebrow. "I was a little occupied with my older brother burning up."

Dean gently pulled Sam to his feet, dropping back into the big brother mode he hadn't been in in far too long. "Alright, come sit down over here. Can you take your shirt off? I need to see the wound."

Sam started to move, but his shoulder instantly screamed at the movement, and he froze with a whimper.

Dean instantly took pity, grabbing the scissors out of the first aid kit sitting open on the other bed. "You aren't attached to this shirt, are you?"

Sam shook his head a little and Dean made a couple of quick cuts in the shirt, then gently eased it off.

As he watched Dean work, Sam couldn't help but notice some of the emotions flitting across his brother's face. Worry and fear, but also relief.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything, Sam." Dean broke the silence, his voice soft and hesitant. "I just figured I'd talk to you afterwards. The way you two went at it, I didn't want to make things worse and...and I was so tired of the fighting. But...but I never blamed you. _Never. _I never thought it was your fault and I definitely never hated you. I love you, Sammy, and I want-_need_ you by my side."

Sam nodded slowly, processing what Dean was telling him. As much as he wanted to respond, as much as he wished he knew what to say, he had to fight to keep his eyes open. It had been a long couple of days.

As always, his big brother noticed. "It's okay, Sam. Lay back and go to sleep. I'll stitch you up and we can talk more when you wake."

Sam was barely aware of Dean's callused but gentle hands guiding him down onto the bed before he was out.

...

Sam woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open.

The first thing he saw was Dean, sitting beside the bed on a chair, staring at him as if unable to believe he was actually there.

Sam sat up with a wince and Dean finally moved, pulling Sam into a hug that Sam returned with surprise.

A soft, guilty, heartbroken, "I'm so sorry, Sammy." made Sam pause.

And that's when it hit him. That's when he realized exactly what he needed to say.

"It's okay, Dean."

And it was. Sam finally felt complete, whole in a way that he hadn't for a long time. Yes, he still hurt over what happened, probably would for a while yet, but he knew how Dean felt about it. _Things can be fixed._ The empty hole in his chest was gone.

Finally, Dean pulled back and took a good long look at his younger brother.

"You've gotten freakin' huge." He suddenly grinned.

Sam smiled back a little hesitantly, still a little unsure around his brother, worried something could go wrong. He finally felt complete, he didn't want to do something that could ruin that. And while he believed Dean was sorry, he was also aware that things weren't perfect yet. They were just on the road to getting there and it was gonna be a little bumpy, just as it always was.

They would have to learn to trust each other again. Sam wasn't going to be able to look over everything said and wonder if it was secretly an insult and Dean wasn't going to be able to wonder every moment if Sam was going to take off again. They couldn't if they were going to survive.

But Sam had more hope that they would be okay than he had had in a long time

...

Dean saw Sam's hesitancy and instantly hated it.

_Sammy's giving me a chance to really fix this and no matter what it takes I __**will.**__ I will take that fear away from him. We're gonna be comfortable around each other again. _

_You don't have to be afraid that I'm going to hurt you again. _

_I won't._

_It'll be okay._

_I promise._


	11. Chapter 11

Hey guys! So here is the last chapter. Because there was several requests for a sequel, it is shorter than I meant it to be. Most of the "overall improvement" that I planned to show in this chapter will go in the sequel I am beginning to plan. So, it's short, sweet, and to the point. :)

I hope you guys have enjoyed the story and thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I read all of them, and really really appreciate them all. :)

* * *

><p>They made a decision together to stop hunting for awhile. It wasn't that hard a decision for Dean, as he hadn't been hunting in a long time and his sudden attempt to obviously hadn't gone over well. Sam knew it was the right decision to make. They had a lot to work on before hunting could be put back on their plate.<p>

It was the most relaxing time the brothers had had together since Sam was 8.

However, they couldn't ignore the time apart and the changes to both of them.

...

It was habit.

When Sam stepped out of the bathroom, sweats on but no shirt, he hadn't really been thinking.

However, when he turned his exposed back to his brother who was sitting on his own bed watching tv, the soft gasp had his mind spinning instantly.

_Oh crap. _

"_Sam_." Dean sounded like he was in physical pain, but Sam knew that wasn't really the case. "_Sammy. _What _happened?_"

Sam sighed. "You know how life is, Dean." He really didn't want to have this conversation.

"Sam. Sam, what happened?" Dean wasn't going to let that slide.

Sam sighed again, then finally sat down on his bed heavily. "You already knew I was hunting, Dean. A lot of the scars are from that."

"But not all of them. And some of those are _really_ nasty, Sam. Tell me." Dean was in big brother mode now and Sam knew from experience he wouldn't be dissuaded.

_Besides, _a traitorous part of Sam's mind spoke up, _you know you need this. He needs to know and you need to tell him. You want him to know, so he can fix it._

Dean moved over and sat behind his baby brother, pressing a finger to one of the longer scars on Sam's back. "What's this one from?"

"Wendigo. Threw me against a tree. Had to go to a hospital for that one. You would have liked the nurse. She was cute." Sam tried to distract, tried to encourage some human, but Dean was unresponsive to it.

"This one?" Dean touched one former wound that was still scarring, one that went up his back and to his neck.

"Bar fight. Guy nearly decapitated me. I finally broke down and called Bobby for help on that one."

"How did it start?"

"People don't like being hustled."

"Sam, you're good at talking yourself out of crap like that. Talk to me. What happened?"

Sam sighed again. "Guy asked for his money back and I might have been less civil than I could have been."

Dean paused, taking that in. "Why?"

"I was stressed, Dean. Needed a good fight."

"_You_ needed a fight?"

"Yes, Dean. Things change."

Dean paused again, then sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Dean. I started the bar fight, I deserved what I got."

"Sam-"

"It's alright, Dean."

Dean finally moved around and grabbed Sam's arm. "This?"

"Ghoul tried to have me for dinner."

"This?"

"The ghoul invited his girlfriend."

"What about this one?"

"Werewolf decided the ghouls didn't deserve to have me for dinner."

"Sam."

"Sorry."

"This one?" Dean pointed to the scar across Sam's cheek.

"Bar fight. Yes, another one."

"Dang, Sam. How many-"

"You don't want to know."

"I kinda do."

"A lot."

"Sam."

"Dean."

"Geez, what are you, four?"

_"Geez, what are you, four?" _

"#$%^."

"Jerk."

...

"I want to go see the Grand Canyon." Sam glanced shyly over at his brother, before looking away again.

Dean regarded his younger brother for a while, then started to nod slowly. "Well, I got to take us to Vegas. If you want to go the Grand Canyon, let's go."

"Really?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, really. Did you think I was gonna say no?"

Sam hesitated. "Well, I keep expecting you to tell me we're starting hunting again." He decided to stick with honesty.

Dean sighed, heavily. "I'm not going to just _tell you_ we're starting hunting. When we start again, it will be a joint decision. We're a team. I'm not your drill sergeant."

Sam smiled at his brother, relaxing a little. "Okay. Okay. Thank you, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes again. "You're welcome you big girl. Now let's get going. I want to eat."

"You always want to eat."

"I'm a growing boy who needs his nutrients."

"Okay, one, you're not growing unless you count width, and two, nothing you eat has any nutrients in it."

"Hey, I'm not fat! And pie has all the nutrients I could ever need."

"Wow. I don't even know what to say to you."

"Hey, you totally missed this. Admit it." But underneath the teasing comment, Sam could hear the real question, the serious need to know.

Sam smiled down at his brother. "That I did, Dean, that I did."


End file.
